


Aphelion

by wordswithinmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, soft smut, very emo stuff tear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithinmoments/pseuds/wordswithinmoments
Summary: Aphelion, where the earth is at its farthest from the sun.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Aphelion

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted on my tumblr! (myelocin)

Akaashi Keiji’s always felt far away.

It’s a nagging feeling that’s started ever since he was a child, but the more he thinks about it now, it’s a thought that never truly found the inclination to leave despite the absence of its welcome.

(It was never welcome from the start.)

But despite that, it’s at nine, where instead of chasing fireflies or sharing stories by the campfire with the rest of the group, Akaashi would sit by the rocks, head to the sky, as he counts the stars. Tracing dot to dot, imagining the lines that would connect one world to the next, he imagines the constellations bloom from the midnight canvas as they come to life before his eyes.

It’s the stars that are with him, he thinks. Balls of fire and light, coming from billions of light years away, shining and _bursting_ just for _him_ to see its sparkle from his corner of _his_ miniscule slice of the world that feels too big for a universe that was infinite. And as the earth breathes, he times his inhales and exhales along with it.

He wants to marvel at the stars—at all the suns that exist with _just_ the purpose to burn, and say his thanks.

Akaashi knows he’ll burn if he draws near. He’ll fade into the black; perhaps reduced into just ashes or nothingness, but to have your demise be at the hands of majesty is a poem in itself, he thinks.

And it’s through the years where he’d stare at the dotted stars in the black sky, where he feels the farthest away from the ground. His back’s to the earth, palm to the sky, and he feels the pebbles digging in his thighs when he shifts. _But still,_ he’d think.

_I’m so far away._

Far, like the next galaxy from his own, because the void between point A and point B seems like it stretches endlessly. There are worlds out there, around each dot in the sky, and he supposes that like the Earth—they too, spin.

There’s a calmness he’s always felt when he’s settled in place, and he’s still. Akaashi knows the earth continues to spin, much like how the world continues to move. His mind’s at ease, but he’s breathing. Blood’s pumping through his veins, and there’s a piece of him _somewhere_ that’s _always_ healing. The cut on his skin that he never even noticed he had or the germ that found its way into where it shouldn’t be.

The nature of all life is to _move,_ he supposes, and so only when he’s at his most still does he notice that.

The pause is only momentarily. When you rest, your heart’s still pumping blood and your lungs still inhale before it exhales.

Akaashi sighs. Even in darkness, at his _most_ still he’s still so aware.

So he opens his eyes, and looks to the sky. Towards the sparks of light that dot themselves like the freckles of the heavens, and tries to imagine he’s up there with the sky.

(There’s always been something in the sky that made him feel like it exists for the purpose of one day intertwining with his soul.)

He smiles; a comforting thought; a fable of some sort, told to the self as if to say he’s not alone.

-

(And when he lets himself go, Akaashi realizes that he’s with the void and not the beams of light.)

-

The darkness isn’t lonely.

It’s cold, and the light’s far, but he’s not _lonely._ At least that’s what Akaashi tells himself.

Reality is, _now,_ he’s twenty six and a little past the age where he should still be looking for the words of the poem in between every line. Life kind of works like a riddle, he thinks. Riddles and riddles within the lines of a book he can read a hundred times over but never truly understand. He’ll understand the definition of every word in every line of _every_ page, but he won’t _find_ the meaning.

“Because it has to come to you,” Bokuto once pointed out, and ever since then, his words haven’t left him.

And in a way, there’s more than just truth to that old saying. For something to be raw, you have to meet it halfway.

Bokuto is one of the things that meet him halfway.

When you’re young, point A to point B means you have to get from year 1 to year 12 and graduate, and for Akaashi, he meets Bokuto in the middle of that.

To think that he was like _just_ light had to be an understatement, the more he thought about it. Ever since the start, Bokuto had this way of moving as if he _were_ the light itself. Like a ball of energy that’s meant to grow from beginning until eternity—he continued to bloom.

And so Akaashi was in awe.

In Bokuto he saw someone bursting. A blinding, bursting, _beaming_ kind of light that reminded him of all the stories of old when it came to the constellations. Like holding his hand out to touch the skies—just as he did as a child—this time, the light felt tangible.

Bokuto’s cheek against the palm of his hand, and it was _terrifying_ how _instant_ love was felt.

Where for a while he was swept, but not swept away. Akaashi moved with the tide, letting himself be taken with the current whose waves never seem to rage despite the raindrops that fall from time to time.

It’s a lot later when he realizes that the raindrops are him. They come in the form of tears; most unshed, but felt in the veil of secrecy. At that point—and the now—Akaashi still feels like he’s far away. When he looks at Bokuto—it’s undeniable that what he sees is the purest form of his light, his truth, and his love.

Like life, he thinks.

The love that rooted itself in his heart from the hello first bloomed before it _burst._ And as someone who only saw himself as part of the black within the black void in space, he was overwhelmed. For him, there had always been a stark difference between love from a third person perspective and the first. It’s easy to say that he loves to watch the sun cradle a flame before him, but saying “ _I”_ love the sun, just because, hits different.

The words come unfamiliar to his tongue, because the word _I_ had always felt too out of reach for someone who had always just been content with budding in the silence.

But it’s _“I love you,”_ that Bokuto still chooses to tell him everyday, instead of a hello or a goodbye, and Akaashi knows that that will always be his truth.

 _“Akaashi, I love you,”_ when he’s rolling over in bed at six in the morning, and “ _I love you,”_ again, whispered in between the kisses he never fails to press against his forehead right as the sun breaks, and the light spills.

 _“I love you,”_ written in all the notes Bokuto still slips in between the pages of the books he promises himself he’d read, and on the texts that would remind him of this true kind of love day and night.

The love is there, and Akaashi just _knows_ the world keeps spinning.

But he feels still.

His heart stills when Bokuto cups his cheeks, and it’s every morning where the sun begins to rise where he sometimes tries to bury himself deeper under the covers to not look at the sun in the eye just a little while longer.

But because the universe only knows truth instead of the kind of patience and mercy Akaashi only _thinks_ he’s sought this whole time, whenever Akaashi would peek past the walls he’s formed with blankets and pillows, it’s the gold of Bokuto’s eyes that are telling him _“I love you,”_ again.

—and again, and again, and again, and again.

“I love you,” like a reminder of how raw love can be when it’s real.

(And Akaashi’s terrified.)

But Bokuto’s patient.

He knows that Akaashi likes to stare at the skies, and open his palms towards the night skies, so he always, _always_ tries to give him the stars. Bokuto collects specks of gold and silver, catching fallen stardust and chunks meteorite, giving it to Akaashi with shaky hands that are covered with bits of soil and bruises.

The truth is, Bokuto’s terrified too, but he still loves.

To overcome the fire that comes with the burn from love, he chooses to love harder—to _burst_ brighter.

If only Akaashi let himself lay still and think of the stars as just dots in the sky and not as the gods he knows deep down they aren’t.

-

Because later on, it’s “I love you,” switched for “I’m leaving you,” that changes the tilt of Bokuto’s world.

Akaashi’s words that cut deep like he doesn’t mean to, but he delivers them blank anyways.

Bokuto watches as Akaashi blinks, eyes shifting from one side to the next, so he does the same. In the inbetween moment slotted between love as “us,” and love as just “you, then me,” he notices the telltale twitches of Akaashi’s fingers as they fidget with the hem of his sweater.

He softens, eyes of gold easing into a lighter shade. They burn before they sparkle, and Akaashi watches, awestruck again, as the sun blinks towards him.

In the moment he thinks of _aphelion._

Aphelion, meaning the phenomenon that happens once a year around the end of July, where the Earth is the furthest away from the sun.

He feels far away, he thinks, but he’s right _here_ and Bokuto’s right _there._ There’s a two feet distance in between them, just enough for them to sit on either ends of the bed, separating the two. And it _should_ be easy—reaching forward with his palms open as he lets Bokuto take his hands in his like he must have done more than a thousand times by now.

But he’s _far away._

Akaashi thinks of the void again: the space between the planet earth and the sun, and he’s stuck. Neither drifting away nor being pulled by gravity, he stays in place. The sun before him burns, its flames _blooming_ like wildflower, and even though the sight is bright—Akaashi isn’t blinded.

Bokuto Koutarou and the gold of his eyes have always been his perfect shade of the sun.

From the tiny space he occupies in the room, he watches as Bokuto forms sentence after sentence, but it’s a blur to him. _Aphelion,_ he thinks—doesn’t feel lonely at all.

It’s in the void, where he’s intertwined with the kind of black matter that blankets the space, where he feels like he’s finally in place. He’s beside the earth— _his world that never felt like his—_ continue to rotate and stay in motion, the clouds swirling and oceans roaring within. It’s alive because of the sun. The earth, green because it holds life. Life that takes root and moves like the vines around the wall—inescapable, by nature.

Akaashi watches Bokuto with a wonder in his eye like always, the distance made clear to him, but he stays. There’s a certain feel of weightlessness beyond the boundary of the world that’s constantly moving and before the majesty that is the _sun._

So he lets himself be still as he only stares.

His sun in the form of Bokuto Koutarou—the star on the court and in his life. Gold, gold, _bright golden_ eyes the perfect shade of light, and the tone of his voice holding nothing but his _raw_ truth— _always._

The way his mouth moves tells Akaashi that he must be sputtering over his words by now. “I love you,” like, “Don’t go,” or perhaps a “Why?” but he’s pulled himself too deep within his own trance to reach out.

When you’re above the planet, the speed that people think comes with motion ceases. Weightless, he extends his arm anyway, palms facing down, Bokuto’s heart thrums because they’re still _towards_ him. He knows Akaashi thinks of the moment like he thinks of the skies when he stargazes, and that the thoughts in his head must be muddled by now.

Bokuto can say “I love you,” and lay all his other truths bare right now, but Akaashi’s drifting too far for him to hear.

 _Aphelion,_ because of the distance between the sun and _his_ world—at its furthest, and Akaashi can only lie still as he watches.

A burst of colors: like a golden marmalade and fiery scarlet, and he’s in front of what he always calls nothing short of majesty. The world and its voices around him shout before they dull, sounding like whispers outside the walls he just assumes comes with the void in space.

But because love is this, and it’s real, the sun’s voice reaches the world anyway.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, and he hears him. “I love you,” he continues, and Akaashi’s quick to shake his head because he _doesn’t_ want to hear him.

Part of him is terrified, but his hands itch to face up against the sky again, and reach for the stars. Akaashi closes his eyes, but he sees constellations. He’s still within aphelion, because he’s weightless, but when he opens his eyes he feels _even_ space _breathe_ as if it’s in motion.

The sun inhales, and Akaashi backs away.

He doesn’t tremble, but he is weary. More than anyone, Akaashi knows what it’s like to reach forward too close to what’s bright until it burns him. All his life he’s marveled at the majesty that is the stars, the sun— _Bokuto,_ but he supposes in order to let its light burst brighter, the world should remain from a distance, and simply watch.

Bokuto says his name again, and Akaashi hears him, again. There’s a softness to Bokuto’s voice that reminds Akaashi he’s still a human who can _feel_ the here and the _now_ (which is _love,)_ so little by little he listens, and continues to stare.

“I feel far away,” Akaashi confesses, so Bokuto stands up, rounding the corner of the bed to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “Bokuto-san, you’re too bright.”

 _He’s close,_ Akaashi thinks.

“Far away, huh,” Bokuto parrots, tone light. He stares forward, just barely bumping the back of his hand to Akaashi’s that lays still on his lap.

Akaashi hums his agreement beside him, ocean eyes flickering to meet Bokuto’s pools of light, and this time, it’s Bokuto who stares in wonder—suddenly thinking that the oceans, the source of life on earth, was held by the swirls of the Atlantic and the Pacific in Akaashi’s eyes.

(Bokuto holds his breath in front of the presence of life.)

(Akaashi turns away from the _root_ of life.)

“I’m too far away,” Akaashi repeats, eyes focused towards the blank space on the wall.

He begins to see the void, so he drifts, until Bokuto’s voice center him back to the present again.

“Then that’s okay,” he hums. “I’ll be the one to come to you then.”

“But the stars have light and they belong in the sky,” Akaashi exhales, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding on to.

Bokuto feels his heart clench, finally understanding the reasoning behind Akaashi’s call for distance. He looks at him still, eyes gold and the love within made so evident he feels like he’s in the brink of tears, as he whispers back, “But the stars have light because they’re meant to be seen right?”

“They still reach you,” he whispers, turning his body to cradle Akaashi’s face in between his palms, _“—right?”_

-

And they do, because Akaashi knows he’s seen them this whole time.

There’s a certain beauty that comes with watching the sun burst from a distance. Whether it be from his little slice of earth, palms outstretched as if to touch the sky, or floating in the void, weightless—he feels far away but it isn’t _lonely._

To marvel at the kind of light that shines for the sake of being seen is a different kind of honor, but as Bokuto leans in, closing the distance between the two of them with his lips pressing on top of his own—Akaashi ascends.

He thinks there’s a cry that’s probably came from him, but he lets it out anyway.

Bokuto’s palms are a familiar warmth against his face, so he weeps. Lips red and face flushed, Akaashi’s suddenly _grounded._ But it’s the kind of pull where he doesn’t feel like he’s barreling towards the earth that won’t cease in its movement for the sake of cushioning his fall, but rather the kind where even if his feet are above ground, he’s _okay._

Akaashi opens his hands, crescents indented on the area where his nails dug in a little too deep in the skin, and reaches up to hold Bokuto’s face. Bokuto thinks he hears a whimper, and his heart clenches.

Moments like these remind him of how gentle the heart can truly be amidst the storm that comes with the Elysium people assume love _only_ is. In love, there’s peace, but there’s also fear. There’s moments of euphoria that has him feeling _high_ some moments, then crashing into the earth where gravity seems like it’s a factor that’s meant to trigger collision instead of be the force that keeps you grounded.

So he centers Akaashi.

He parts, then breathes deep, his thumb cradling the side of Akaashi’s face with the sort of gentleness he always means to love him with. Gold eyes that carry the light from all the stars in the sky peer into the depths of the blue waters of _his_ world, and love is felt on both ends, overflowing in the way that doesn’t overwhelm nor drown them.

Akaashi trembles, his lip quivering against the pads of Bokuto’s fingers, so it’s a gentle, _“Hey,”_ that Bokuto murmurs to remind him of his presence.

The sun before his eyes glow with the soothing kind of light, and Akaashi’s warm. Thinking of the stars he’s longed to hold from the skies, he takes a sharp breath as it dawns on him that the brightest one from all the constellations he’s traced is in front of him, in the form of _love._

Bokuto Koutarou, as the love that met him halfway.

Mornings with yakisoba bread in highschool, cheeky words that lead to hellos, then honest “I love yous,” that kept them held together until the now.

Akaashi breaks, softly.

But love— _Bokuto—_ cradles him, gently.

Bokuto pushes him to lean back until his back is pressed flat against the bed, right before caging him in between his arms, leaning back down to kiss him.

“This is love,” Bokuto whispers, pressing a kiss on his forehead. Akaashi keeps his eyes on his, unwavering even as he parts his lips and lets out a moan when he feels Bokuto’s hand brush over the evidently growing bulge in his pants.

“ _You_ are love,” Bokuto reaffirms, biting his lip to hold back his own groan, quickly unbuttoning Akaashi’s pants, lightly smirking at the way the man beneath him seems to glide with his intentions, kicking away the piece of fabric as soon as he slides them down far enough.

Akaashi’s haste is made known from the way he sits up, frantically pulling Bokuto’s shirt over his head before he tugs at the waistband of Bokuto’s sweatpants, pulling him down while leaning up to meet him halfway with a desperate kiss.

Something akin to love blooms in his chest, and his whole body has him feeling like he’s _burning._ Bokuto groans into the kiss, pushing him back down and settling his weight on his forearms as he grinds his hips against Akaashi's bare skin, his cock already hard inside his sweatpants.

 _“I love you,”_ Bokuto continues to say anyway, hoping that the truth in his words is still delivered. And immediately, Akaashi lets him know the message has been received when he pants his own confession into the shell of his ear, breathless.

Intimacy like secrets whispered, because as he stares into Akaashi’s swirls of blue, he knows there’s trust that comes with the love. Trust, like coming home and knowing it’s Akaashi’s voice that will be the only voice to greet him, and trust like touching the sun and knowing you won’t be burned.

 _Trust,_ like Akaashi turning his head because he knows Bokuto always kisses him on the neck right before he’d trail his hand down Bokuto’s chest, following the contours of the skin he’s memorized by heart now, then reaching past the waistband of his sweats to touch his already leaking cock.

Akaashi parts his lips, releasing a silent moan, as Bokuto releases a groan in between the open mouthed kisses along his neck.

Because the more Akaashi thinks about it, there’s a lot of _I love yous,_ made known through the silent confessions in the little in-betweens of the kind of intimacy they always shared. Bokuto knows where to press his kisses just as Akaashi knows that Bokuto’s always been the one to appreciate him pressing his thumb against the slit of his already weeping cock.

“Baby, _fuck—“_ Bokuto groans, in a voice familiar to Akaashi.

In the midst of the lust that clouds the room, Bokuto knows that the root of this all is still love. When Akaashi moans his name, his heart blooms. A series of touches that are familiar yet _still_ exciting are what he considers are the only steps to the kind of euphoria the very peak of love brings.

It’s the little things, he supposes.

When Akaashi pumps his cock and looks him in the eye, more than feeling the pleasure that builds for the sake of release, he finds himself completely swallowed with the thought that love, truly, is _this._ Bokuto’s biting his lip, a mixture of whispered confessions and broken moans of Akaashi’s name spilling from his lips as he nears his high, stomach tightening as Akaashi pumps faster and faster.

At the sound of his name, followed by Akaashi’s truthful “I love you,” and “I’ve got you,” Bokuto shudders, realizing that Akaashi is the only person in the universe he wants to find this release with—to be this _vulnerable_ to.

And it’s Bokuto’s glistening eyes that has Akaashi thinking about aphelion again. In front of him, he still sees the sun. Streams of gold and the silver glimmer of the distant stars stare back at him as if _he’s_ the wonder worthy to be marveled at, and Akaashi exhales.

A breathy whisper, the syllables pronouncing the name of a lover he’s long considered as his sun—his star.

And Bokuto shiver shivers, body trembling yet steady all at once, as he peers down, meeting Akaashi’s eyes halfway, and is reminded of the beauty of _his_ world he’s long cradled within his arms.

Another “I love you,” whispered, then once more before the silence settles. Where they say it again and again and again as if it’s the prayer that will give them eternity.

(Because perhaps it is.)

-

An eternity like the sun and the world, caught in a weightless space, defying the rules of aphelion as they cross the distance and collide. In a burst of colors they come together and bloom instead of burn, because _this,_ they think, meaning _love_ , is the root of life.

Akaashi watches, with lips parted as the sun _against_ him glimmers gold, giving warmth. And Bokuto does the same, looking at the life cradled by the world that only knows day because of the sun.

Bokuto thinks to himself that even if he were to _just_ be a faraway star, he would still at least reach the night skies that always blanketed _his_ world when evening comes. Perhaps he’d just be a dot in the sky—a face in the crowd—looked over once, then never again.

But Akaashi doubts it.

There’s always been something in the sky he felt as if waited for _and_ with him.

As he finally accepts the truth he knows he’s held for a while now— _love,_ he calls it—in its most honest and true state—because there is no other truth he holds with as much vulnerability as this.

“Would you still love me if I was just another face in the crowd?” Bokuto asks later that night, and Akaashi doesn’t pull away from the warmth this time. Instead, he turns to face him, and still sees specks of gold shimmer despite the dark.

(The dark isn’t lonely.)

(There will always be his gold and _his_ sun leaving sparks of light.)

“You wouldn’t just be a face in the crowd,” Akaashi answers, voice light.

And that’s the truth he gives, because even if he were to be just a dot in the sky beside the infinity of stars, Akaashi knows he would always be part of his constellation.


End file.
